The dining room was still cluttered with a table full of cold leftovers that needed tending to. Ruan Qiuji packed the dishes one by one into glass containers, covered them with plastic wrap, and stored them neatly in the refrigerator. Aside from food, the fridge was stocked with rows of perfectly aligned beer cans; when he closed the door, the adjacent cans rattled in unison from the vibration.
Ruan Qiuji wasn't hungry to begin with, so after clearing the table, he decided to wash the dishes as well. Usually, he didn't have to do such chores, as a part-time cleaner came regularly during the day, but today he was in a rare mood for leisure, treating the dishwashing as a form of recreation.
He had turned off the lights in the living room. Looking toward the sofa, he could only make out a blurred dark shadow, like a crane resting in the depths of a cold pond. The faucet ran, slowly rinsing the clean white porcelain plates in his hands. Ruan Qiuji stacked the plates one by one—washing, organizing, restoring everything to its original place. It allowed his heart to settle into a similar state of calm.
Before he could finish the dishes, a phone suddenly began to ring. It wasn't his; the ringtone was an interlude from a movie. Ruan Qiuji straightened up and listened intently. He slowly peeled off the two rubber gloves, draped them aside, and turned off the faucet. Now he could hear it more clearly—it was coming from the living room.
Qi Bailu had carelessly left his phone on the coffee table shortly after entering. Ruan Qiuji walked over and saw the screen lighting up in the darkness, casting Qi Bailu’s face in half-light and half-shadow.
The ringing persisted. Qi Bailu was sleeping too deeply, showing no sign of waking. Ruan Qiuji leaned down to pick up the phone and saw the caller ID: Zheng Kunyu.
This was an interesting development. Ruan Qiuji glanced at Qi Bailu’s face, lowered the volume, and placed the phone on the opposite sofa, as leaving it on the coffee table would have amplified the vibration. He hadn't intended to answer, but after lighting a cigarette and smoking for a while, the ringing continued. He suddenly changed his mind, picked up the phone, and gave the screen a gentle swipe to connect the call.
Neither spoke first. Ruan Qiuji waited a moment, then leaned against the back of the sofa and said softly, "Good evening."
On the other end, Zheng Kunyu remained silent for a long time. Ruan Qiuji said, "You didn't hear wrong. It's me."
Only then did Zheng Kunyu’s cold voice respond, "Put *him* on." The emphasis was heavy on the pronoun.
Ruan Qiuji replied, "He’s asleep, right next to me. Do you want me to wake him up for you?"
After he spoke, there was only dead silence on the line. Ruan Qiuji pulled the phone away to check if Zheng Kunyu had hung up. Seeing the call was still active, he said unhurriedly, "Are you wondering why he’s with me? I imagine you never expected it—he came running to beg me, throwing everything away for your sake. The way he looks when he begs is truly lovely. No wonder you love him."
Ruan Qiuji spoke with almost no hint of jealousy. He sounded polite and relaxed, like an old friend making small talk. He deliberately left out the details of exactly how Qi Bailu had begged him or whether he had agreed to the request. These omissions were a strike against a man's dignity, enough to drive Zheng Kunyu mad with jealousy.
It was the first time anyone had said Zheng Kunyu loved Qi Bailu. It hadn't come from anyone else’s mouth, but Ruan Qiuji’s. Having this pointed out so nonchalantly, Zheng Kunyu neither denied nor confirmed it. In a call marked with his name, there was now a void where everything should have been.
Ruan Qiuji watched the cigarette in his hand burn down as he waited. Finally, the ash became too heavy and crumbled onto the carpet. He thought idly: *This is the final straw that breaks the camel's back.*
Just as Ruan Qiuji thought the other side would not speak again, Zheng Kunyu sneered, "Would you really want a madman?"
Ruan Qiuji’s hand suddenly froze. He glanced at the sleeping Qi Bailu, stood up, and walked all the way to the window before saying in a low voice, "What do you mean by that?"
Zheng Kunyu didn't answer him, saying coldly, "What I can't have, I will destroy. I won't let anyone else have him."
Sensing Zheng Kunyu’s intent to hang up, Ruan Qiuji said, "Why don't we negotiate terms?"
Since Zheng Kunyu dared to say such a thing, it proved he held something heavy enough to destroy Qi Bailu. Ruan Qiuji pondered for a moment and made up his mind. "Give me whatever you have regarding Bailu, and I can fight for a reduced sentence for you—I might even be able to get it suspended. You could be out in just three years. With your abilities, you can still make a comeback regardless of what you do. How about it? This is the best path available to you."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because you have no choice."
Zheng Kunyu didn't pause or hesitate. In that same cold tone, he said, "You're wrong. This is between him and me; it has nothing to do with you. From beginning to end, you've been an outsider. No one cares what you think."
Even at death's door, he was still struggling to bite back. Ruan Qiuji’s expression shifted. At their core, both were stubborn and vigilant men who knew exactly how to strike each other's sore spots. Ruan Qiuji addressed him by his full name, concluding, "Zheng Kunyu, your pride and ego will be the death of you sooner or later."
By now, only a dead end remained. Zheng Kunyu didn't care what bitter fruits he had to eat or what retribution he had to suffer. After Ruan Qiuji finished his sentence, Zheng Kunyu didn't even draw a breath; as if it were none of his business, he cut the line.
Ruan Qiuji slowly lowered his hand. He looked at his own reflection in the glass and frowned, a rare occurrence. Behind him, Qi Bailu, lying on the sofa, was also frowning. In his dream, he seemed to sense something; the hand resting by his head twitched.
Ruan Qiuji turned to look at him. Though he could only see a faint silhouette from a distance, he could still sense the tension and pain radiating from Qi Bailu. He was like the Little Mermaid who had struggled to crawl ashore; because he hadn't grown legs yet, he couldn't stand, and though he wanted to see his lover, he had only a mute voice.
The light of the phone screen suddenly died. Ruan Qiuji switched to his own phone, opened his contacts, scrolled to Cheng Wenhui’s number, and dialed. Cheng Wenhui sounded nervous when he answered, asking what was wrong with "Little Qi." Ruan Qiuji got straight to the point: "What exactly does Zheng Kunyu have on him? Tell me everything you know."
Cheng Wenhui found it difficult to speak. Hearing the gravity in Ruan Qiuji’s voice, he sensed something bad was brewing, so he finally confessed. He said Qi Bailu had been filmed by Zheng Kunyu in high-definition, explicit sex videos. However, Zheng Kunyu wasn't the type to publicize his private affairs, so it was unlikely he would release them. He added that he vaguely knew Zheng Kunyu held something even more threatening than videos—something given to him years ago by Qi Bailu’s uncle. Cheng Wenhui didn't know what it was.
His uncle. Ruan Qiuji realized he was about to uncover the secret Qi Bailu had been hiding all along—to understand his family, his upbringing, his everything. But could he bear the consequences of such knowledge?
Pandora’s box sat before him, and only Zheng Kunyu held the key. Whether directly or indirectly, it was Ruan Qiuji who was forcing Zheng Kunyu to open it.
If someone were to ask Qi Bailu what he dreamed of when he woke the next day, he would say: fourteen. The secrets of his fourteenth year were written on a piece of paper, sealed away from the light of day—at least, they had been until this day. Zheng Kunyu had once said that as long as he wasn't afraid, he could run to the ends of the earth, and then his secret would be seen by the whole world.
Many times he had gathered his courage, only to find he still didn't dare face his past self. This included the time he moved in with Lin Yuewei; he thought he was prepared, but the moment he imagined the roof being ripped off his dark room—allowing criticism, misunderstanding, and mockery to flood in like a deluge—his courage dissolved like sugar in the water.
He didn't want to be seen as a monster, as someone weak and easily bullied, or as a diseased tree. When people encountered a diseased tree, their first thought was to straighten it or chop it down. A tree growing robustly would never understand a diseased one; it wouldn't understand the effort it took to unfurl green leaves, or that the diseased tree could only feel the sun after pushing through layers of heavy clouds.
Everyone has secrets. A secret was his shackle, but it was also his dignity.
Zheng Kunyu had once said, "You don't seem like a psychiatric patient." Qi Bailu had replied, "I never was." Zheng Kunyu didn't seem to care whether he was ill or not, nor was he afraid to provoke him. At the very least, Zheng Kunyu never looked at him with that strange, pitying gaze.
When that paper was unfolded, one could see the yellowed creases. Every box was filled in with a ballpoint pen. To this day, Qi Bailu could clearly remember what was written in every single box, but he always felt it was someone else’s life, completely unrelated to who he was now.
It truly was someone else’s life. As the photo was enlarged before his eyes, Ruan Qiuji thought that if it weren't for the one-inch ID photo reminding him of a familiar face, he might have truly mistaken it for another person's history.
*Name: Zhou Bailu.*
*Age: 14.*
*Family Member: Zhou Xingzhi.*
*Relationship to Patient: Father.*
Further down, there were more notes: *Lying, stealing, withdrawn, easily provoked, heavy rebellious streak, family history of mental illness. Mother, Qi Qianqian, committed suicide due to schizophrenia.* At the bottom of the page was the red stamp of the Municipal Psychiatric Hospital.
The youth in that one-inch ID photo had short-cropped hair and brooding eyes. He stared directly into the camera—it was unmistakably the fourteen-year-old Qi Bailu.
The moment he woke from the dream, it was like accidentally stepping into a river. His powerless limbs struggled like water weeds, unable to resist, leaving him to drift with the current of his consciousness. Qi Bailu was drenched in a cold sweat, murmuring a name. It was as if he had ice in his mouth, making his speech slurred and indistinct; that name was like ice as well—swallowed without chewing, it chilled his very soul.
Once fully awake, Qi Bailu suddenly realized the name he had been calling was Zheng Kunyu. A shadow loomed over him. He turned his head to see the other person on the double bed looking down at him.
Ruan Qiuji was fully dressed, leaning against the headboard and looking at a laptop on his lap. A contemplative gaze was fixed on Qi Bailu’s face. Qi Bailu didn't know if he had heard the earlier murmurs, but judging by Ruan Qiuji’s expression, it seemed he had.
The door to the walk-in closet was open, filled with Ruan Qiuji’s clothes. The pillows and blankets were permeated with Ruan Qiuji’s scent. Qi Bailu realized they were sleeping in the master bedroom. He sat up, his first instinct being to find his phone to check the time. When he couldn't find it, Ruan Qiuji assumed he was looking for clothes and said, "Your clothes have been washed, but they aren't dry yet."
Qi Bailu, of course, didn't think Ruan Qiuji had personally washed them; at most, he had put them in the machine and taken them out. He saw the watch on Ruan Qiuji’s wrist and leaned over, grabbing his arm to look. He was a bit dizzy, and before he could see where the hour hand rested, Ruan Qiuji said, "Eight-oh-five."
Qi Bailu let go as soon as he got the answer. He didn't ask why he was in the bed or how he had gotten there. Seeing him leaning close, Ruan Qiuji put on his gentle mask again and said, "The guest room has never been used and hasn't been cleaned. The sofa isn't comfortable to sleep on, so I carried you over."
Qi Bailu’s eyelashes flickered. His gaze swept across the room and accidentally caught the laptop screen—it was internal data from Jinhe Film and Television. This small detail suddenly sent a jolt of electricity through the dark room of his subconscious. Qi Bailu remembered that back in Xiamen, when he went to Ruan Qiuji’s hotel room to return a phone, he had caught a glimpse of the laptop screen—a PowerPoint presentation on equity structure analysis. Before he could see it clearly, Ruan Qiuji had closed the laptop. Had he already been preparing to strike back then?
Or perhaps even earlier. From their very first meeting, he had been placing chess pieces, calculating every move. After seeing Zheng Kunyu yesterday, Qi Bailu’s emotions had been on the verge of collapse, and he had sought out Ruan Qiuji on impulse. He hadn't had time to think many things through, but he now sensed that Ruan Qiuji had been playing a much longer game.
Seeing Qi Bailu staring at him motionlessly, Ruan Qiuji said softly, "Looking at me like that... it’s as if you truly like me now."
Qi Bailu ignored the probe, which sounded half-earnest and half-feigned. "Cai Tongyue’s scandal, the gossip about me during the New Year’s Eve gala, the photos of us in the underground parking lot, and everything that followed... and perhaps more. You did all of it, didn't you?"
Ruan Qiuji closed the laptop and set it aside, looking at him with an appreciative gaze. It seemed Qi Bailu was smart enough to finally piece it all together.
After Cai Tongyue’s downfall, Zheng Kunyu, as the producer, had no choice but to step in to save his lead actor. As a result, not only did Jiaxing Entertainment take a massive advantage, but a rift had formed in Qi Bailu’s heart toward Zheng Kunyu. The fake gossip from the New Year’s Eve gala was likely a stone thrown by Ruan Qiuji to test the waters when his investigation into Qi Bailu’s background yielded no clues. And that day after drinking orange juice, Zheng Kunyu had seen the photos of them in the parking lot, leading to a massive fight and a long cold war between them, which indirectly triggered Qi Bailu’s departure. Thinking back, the clarity of those photos suggested they were taken by someone specifically hired to stake them out...
As he unraveled the threads of the mystery, Qi Bailu felt a chill of horror. He found Ruan Qiuji increasingly unfathomable. Looking into those black eyes, which were like cold pools, who could have imagined this man possessed such deep schemes and had laid so many traps? He understood Zheng Kunyu’s suspicious nature too well and had seen at a glance how thin the ice was between Qi Bailu and Zheng Kunyu.
Ruan Qiuji didn't deny it. "Do you hate me for it?"
Qi Bailu was silent for a moment before saying, "No." He unconsciously clenched his hands on the duvet, no longer looking at Ruan Qiuji. Back then, he and Zheng Kunyu had been suspicious of each other and had hurt one another; no one else was to blame for how they had ended up. He had never hated Ruan Qiuji; he was simply, suddenly, afraid of him.
Qi Bailu pulled away, turning to get out of bed. Ruan Qiuji reached out and pulled him into an embrace from behind, seemingly wanting to kiss him. Qi Bailu stopped him. "I won't beg you again."
Ruan Qiuji said nothing. Qi Bailu asked, "Where is my phone?"
"It’s better if you don't look at it right now."
Qi Bailu turned back, as if sensing something. He threw aside the pillows to search for the phone. Ruan Qiuji’s refusal to let him see it meant something major had happened. He grabbed Ruan Qiuji’s arm, searched his person, and then searched the corners of the bed. He frantically tore through the entire bed and the nightstands, asking Ruan Qiuji in despair, "Where is it?"
Ruan Qiuji pinned his hands from behind to calm him down. "Go eat first."
"Give it to me now! Give it to me...!"
Ruan Qiuji repeated with unquestionable authority, "Eat first."
Seeing that he wouldn't return the phone, Qi Bailu threw off his hands and brooded alone. Later, Ruan Qiuji made him take a shower. He had no choice but to go into the bathroom. By the time he came out, the food had just been heated. The tomato beef brisket was authentic, but Qi Bailu ate distractedly, barely tasting it in his haste.
Ruan Qiuji sat opposite him, watching. Qi Bailu didn't understand the look in his eyes. Only when he got his phone back would he realize that the reason Ruan Qiuji made him eat first was because he knew Qi Bailu wouldn't be able to swallow another bite afterward.
Compared to the news of a former famous male star being "unspoken" by industry executives and forced into drug use, a far more dramatic story was that of a currently popular star who had once been committed to a psychiatric hospital and had a past unlike that of ordinary people. The records showed Qi Bailu had been confined for three months, during which he had attempted to escape multiple times and had undergone drug therapy.
When the news first broke, everyone dismissed it as a joke. Even the medical record looked like it had been Photoshopped. Qi Bailu appeared perfectly normal in front of every camera—he was logical and articulate. How could he possibly be mentally ill? It wasn't until the media called the hospital for verification that the truth came out. To everyone's surprise, the hospital not only confirmed it but also produced more photos from that time. After seeing the concrete evidence, the entire internet was in an uproar.
The hospital had confirmed it in the morning, but by the afternoon, they suddenly deleted the photos, refused to disclose any further information, and declined all interviews. Shortly after, an official report was released, offering an apology to Qi Bailu. But a single paper apology could not silence the public, nor could it bury Qi Bailu’s past.
Once a thread was pulled, the fine robes covering him were quickly torn open. With the name "Zhou Bailu" and his place of birth, netizens quickly dug up his parents, relatives, and educational background. Thus, every secret ceased to be a secret. The growth of the youth named Zhou Bailu was laid bare before everyone like the veins of a leaf.
For instance, Zhou Xingzhi was a gambling nouveau riche who had married Qi Qianqian, a ballet dancer. Qi Qianqian had never danced again after marriage and later committed suicide by jumping into a river due to mental illness—a significant piece of local news at the time. For instance, Qi Bailu had an uncle with whom he lived after being discharged from the hospital. For instance, former classmates came forward with revelations: primary school classmates said he was a good student with a quiet personality; middle school classmates said he spoke very little and ignored people; university classmates said that on the first day of school, they saw him carrying a red Hermès suitcase and thought his family was very wealthy.
Netizens gathered past airport photos of Qi Bailu, and indeed, he carried that small red women's suitcase every single time. The suitcase was actually quite old and the style was dated; it was likely his mother's.
At this point, even the best PR was powerless. Some guessed he had dropped out of school due to mental health issues; others wondered if he had been protected by someone to keep it hidden so well. More people sympathized with his experiences, as Qi Bailu had changed his name upon reaching adulthood, clearly in memory of his mother. Of course, there were also those who said Qi Qianqian had been a gold-digger and that they had become mentally ill because they had too much food and nothing better to do. They claimed Qi Bailu was "selling misery" to gain sympathy—that if he was sick, he should stay hidden instead of being an actor.
Adding flourishes to the original story—whether they were gold leaf or silver, sympathy or slander—it ultimately transformed into a legend.
Since he was already being accused of "selling misery," Cheng Wenhui and the PR team leaned into it, packaging Qi Bailu as a resilient actor who remained positive despite his hardships, earning a massive amount of sympathy points. Qi Bailu’s uncle, Zhou Xiaozhi, also accepted an interview, stating that Qi Bailu had never lied or stolen; it was his brother who had added those details in a fit of anger during a conflict with his son. He added that Qi Bailu was actually very obedient and sensible, and that he looked just like his mother. Zhou Xiaozhi showed the reporters a photo of the family of three; the Qi Qianqian in the photo was indeed a graceful and elegant beauty.
Even more dramatically, two days later, just as the heat from "Medical Record Gate" was beginning to die down, Zhou Xingzhi—who had been on the run with stolen funds for eight years—was recognized on the street and taken to the police station. Qi Bailu’s studio posted a statement and a new diagnostic report, stating that Qi Bailu was currently perfectly normal and had no mental health issues whatsoever. The statement was written by Cheng Wenhui himself. In all his years as a manager, he had written many statements, but this was the first time he had found it so difficult and headache-inducing.
However, some had already noticed that despite the massive scale of the scandal, Qi Bailu—the man at the center of the storm—hadn't said a single word. Every media outlet wanted to interview him, but he was nowhere to be found. Cheng Wenhui could only brush off reporters with platitudes. Everyone knew that Qi Bailu’s best option was to immediately accept an interview with one or two influential media outlets, speak his "truth," and show how normal he was.
Cheng Wenhui knew this clearly, but he knew even more clearly that Qi Bailu was in no state to do any interviews. It had been three days since he had picked him up from Ruan Qiuji’s place, and Qi Bailu hadn't spoken a word to anyone. Lin Yuewei had flown back specifically out of concern.
Cheng Wenhui didn't understand what Zheng Kunyu was after. Was it simple retaliation? This kind of news wouldn't completely destroy Qi Bailu’s career; it would only destroy his personal spirit. He understood even less how Zheng Kunyu dared to call; his phone was likely being monitored, and calling now was equivalent to exposing his location. It was said that the investigation team had scoured Beijing and still couldn't find Zheng Kunyu; they suspected he had fled to another province.
When the bell rang, Qi Bailu was the only one in the room. It took him a long time to sluggishly turn his head to look, because what was ringing wasn't his phone—which had been turned off for days—but the landline in the room. The landline was a beautiful antique model; he had always thought it was just a decoration, as landlines were outdated and rarely used. The crisp *ding-ling-ling* sound was like a taut kite string being yanked, pull after pull, focusing his consciousness onto the receiver.
Who could be calling a landline at a time like this? Only one person knew this fixed number.
The phone continued to ring with a hollow, urgent rhythm. Such a sound was unsettling, feeling aggressive, like a midnight jump-scare in a horror movie, as if a lethal noose would drop around one's neck in the next moment. It rang at intervals, making it uncertain exactly when the execution would occur, stretching the wait into infinity.
Qi Bailu stepped into his slippers. By the time he reacted, he had walked to the desk like a sleepwalker and gripped the receiver. With just a light lift, the ringing abruptly ceased. Qi Bailu pressed the receiver to his ear. Hearing a low, familiar "Hello" from the other side, his fingers tightened around the handset.
The rain had been intermittent over the past few days. It had stopped for a day, but it looked like it was going to rain again. The evening sky was thick with dark clouds, a cycle of countless past rainy days. Because the air was sweltering, the bedroom windows were wide open. The rain hadn't started yet, but the damp scent of rainwater filled the entire room.
The wind blew the notebooks, old scripts, and unsigned posters on the desk into a chaotic flutter. Qi Bailu reached out to press them down, his voice hoarse. "I know it's you."
Zheng Kunyu’s voice sounded relatively calm and composed, though the sound of wind was mixed into the background. He said, "It's me."
The wind continued to blow. A signature pen on the desk rolled off the surface with a clatter. Qi Bailu had originally prepared ten thousand vicious words to curse him, but now he couldn't say a single one. Having reached the peak of hatred, he only wanted to fire ten thousand arrows to pin the person on the other side to death. If Zheng Kunyu were standing before him at this moment, he would surely pounce on him and kill him. Surely.
Zheng Kunyu said, "Why are you crying?"
Qi Bailu didn't respond, nor did he wipe the hot tears from his face. Zheng Kunyu waited a moment and said, "In your eyes, haven't I always been unworthy?"
"In my eyes..."
"In your eyes, everything I do is wrong."
"What you do *is* wrong. You never even loved me; you only love yourself."
Zheng Kunyu seemed weary of explanations and weary of arguments. After a pause, he gave a faint laugh. "I don't love you? Perhaps that's so. Perhaps you're right. This is the only thing I regret. If I had known this day would come, I should have let you die when you tried to commit suicide. You abandoned me, you betrayed me—there must be a price to pay."
"I didn't..."
Zheng Kunyu interrupted him. "I don't need you to beg anyone for me. I don't need you to be a sacrificial lamb. Bowing your head to others—that is betrayal."
"Is your pride really that important? Is pride more important than being alive? Zheng Kunyu, you really deserve to die."
There was no sound from the phone for a long time. The wind seemed to grow stronger; Qi Bailu could hear the rustling of flower branches on the other end. These sounds made him imagine a scene: plants striking against each other, so fragile they were being throttled by the wind, petals falling in a mess on the ground, the remaining dense foliage rolling in the night like dark green waves.
He seemed to be outside, or perhaps on a very high balcony. That balcony was filled with flowers of all kinds; the ones blooming this season should be of the Rosaceae family—various China roses and roses, a mix of blossoms. Qi Bailu suddenly remembered: Zheng Kunyu was at that apartment on the Third Ring Road, the balcony on the twenty-sixth floor. That property was under Zheng Kunyu’s lawyer’s name.
Qi Bailu calmed down slightly. "Are you still in Beijing?"
"Do you want to judge me?"
Zheng Kunyu’s voice was clear and cold, his breathing light, as if he didn't feel any pain at all. Receiving no response, he asked again, "Do I really deserve to die?"
*Yes, you deserve to die. You should go to hell, never to return.* Qi Bailu suppressed his feverish hatred, forcing it down his throat. After a long time, his tears slowly dried up, and the hatred in his heart dried up with them. His voice was parched as he said, "Turn yourself in."
Unlike his previous plea, these three words were dry, weary, and indifferent. Both of them were piles of dead ash. Zheng Kunyu had come to stir him, to see if there was still a spark of rekindling. Just now, he had experienced a brief surge of life, still having the strength to strike back with sparks, but his heart seemed to have died long ago.
Zheng Kunyu said, "That day you said you hated me. I thought it would be better to let you go on hating me forever. I wanted to watch you be toyed with and grown tired of by him, until you were finally discarded completely."
Zheng Kunyu’s voice distorted slightly, no longer as calm as before, as if he were trying his best to restrain something. He said, "But now, I don't care anymore."
The rustling of the trembling leaves didn't make his voice any less clear. Zheng Kunyu said, "No one will trap you anymore, not now, not ever. Bailu, you are free."
His voice gradually lowered, like the moon sinking into a silent, dead pool, leaving no reflection on the surface, vanishing without a trace. The words he spoke seemed to carry a final trace of love and warmth, yet they were as cold as moonlight.
Qi Bailu let go, then gripped the receiver with both hands to confirm he hadn't misheard. The papers on the desk lost their weight and were suddenly yanked into the air by the wind, fluttering away with a loud rustle.
"Zheng Kunyu?"
Qi Bailu called out to him, his voice breaking, but the call had been disconnected.
"Zheng Kunyu!"
On that night three years ago, he had stood on the balcony of the twenty-sixth floor looking down, like standing on a pitch-black isolated island; if he fell, he would die without a place for burial.
The first drop of rain fell from the sky. Qi Bailu looked out the window. That drop landed on his forehead—perhaps it was the Bodhisattva sprinkling sweet dew to save the world. It was raining. The rain quickly grew heavier, and within a minute, it was a downpour.
He forgot how he put down the phone, how his legs gave way, and how he slid to the floor. Finally, he didn't even notice when someone pushed open the door and walked toward him.
Not until those leather shoes slowly stopped in front of him. Through tear-blurred eyes, he looked up along the legs clad in suit trousers. Because the person was backlit, he couldn't see their face clearly; he only felt they were someone from a dream.
The person leaned down to pick him up. Qi Bailu didn't hesitate to reach out and embrace them in return.
***
Zheng Kunyu was quite the expert in the pursuit of pleasure. Qi Bailu sometimes felt he was only there to accompany him in eating and drinking. He had been incredibly thin, but after over a year of eating, he had finally put on some weight. One night before bed, Zheng Kunyu pinched his stomach and asked, "Gained weight?"
His tone sounded like he was disgusted. Qi Bailu was secretly annoyed. A few days later, they went for Cantonese food. Zheng Kunyu told him to eat, but he said he wanted to lose weight for the screen. As a result, Zheng Kunyu said very unhappily, "Don't be a picky eater."
He was difficult to serve—if he ate, he was called fat; if he didn't, he was called picky. Seeing that he wasn't eating much, Zheng Kunyu asked, "Is it that bad?"
It wasn't bad, but with Zheng Kunyu staring at him, he couldn't eat. In front of him, Qi Bailu brought a spoonful of sampan congee to his mouth. Although the person before him made him lose his appetite, the congee was unexpectedly delicious. Qi Bailu unknowingly finished the entire bowl.
Behind a small screen, someone had been hired to sing Cantonese opera. Qi Bailu couldn't understand the lyrics, only feeling that the words and melody were mournful and desolate. He saw Zheng Kunyu seemed absorbed in the music and asked, "What are they singing?"
"*Autumn Regrets of a Traveler*."
"Can you understand it?"
Zheng Kunyu felt he had asked a redundant question. He said deeply, "I'm from Guangzhou."
That seemed to be the case. He had told him a long time ago, but Qi Bailu hadn't paid much attention to Zheng Kunyu’s affairs and didn't remember if he was from Guangdong or Guangxi. Zheng Kunyu shot him a glance and turned back to listen to the music.
Qi Bailu thought the person sang well, but he understood almost none of the lyrics, listening on in a daze. When Zheng Kunyu heard a certain line, he picked up his chopsticks to eat, no longer listening. Seeing his interest had waned, Qi Bailu pricked up his ears. He only understood something about "futile longing" and "another's circle." The rest he couldn't make out, so he gave up.
As it turned out, that line sang: "I wait for your calamities to turn to blessings, for the stars of misfortune to sever their ties. My heart spins like a windlass, a thousand turns of futile longing. If only my wish for your safety is granted, I shall let the bright moon in the sky shine its fullness upon another."
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
--- | --- | ---
病历门 | Medical Record Gate | A scandal involving the leak of Qi Bailu's psychiatric records.
客途秋恨 | Autumn Regrets of a Traveler | A famous Cantonese narrative song (Naamyam) about a scholar's longing.
周白露 | Zhou Bailu | Qi Bailu's birth name.
周行之 | Zhou Xingzhi | Qi Bailu's father.
祁倩倩 | Qi Qianqian | Qi Bailu's mother.
周效之 | Zhou Xiaozhi | Qi Bailu's uncle.
卖惨 | Selling misery / Playing the victim | A term for someone who uses their hardships to gain sympathy or profit.
别人圆 | Another's circle / Another's reunion | A poetic reference to the full moon, symbolizing someone else's completeness or union.
